Exile
by Entwife Incognito
Summary: Jane and Lisbon's last night before Jane flees the country. The story may be a little rough around the edges, but I wanted to post it before we know what actually happens on Sunday. One-shot, probably AU. Warning: This story has adult sexual content and violent imagery, including murder. If you don't like that stuff, don't read this! Disclaimer: I own nothing about The Mentalist.


He came to her door in the humid night in blood-drenched clothes, smelling of copper and sweat, touches of offal and shit, toting an upscale paper grocery sack by the handles. Face and hands bruised, knuckles and cheeks scraped and scabbing, he hustled through the door as soon as she opened it. His faced looked marred and scratchy like the surface of an old photograph, his beautiful features swollen in odd places across the surface.

"I killed him. I gutted him like a fish."

Even his hair was matted with blood and the congealing leakage of someone's injuries.

"Are you hurt?"

"It was slow and he screamed."

"Take off your jacket and vest. Let me look at you."

He was passive as she peeled them from his body one at a time, the smell of sweat sour and steaming from him, wild and filthy, but uniquely him. She rolled the clothing's exterior to the inside and folded the ends like flaps, sealing the package to contain any debris as much as possible. Whatever he had done, it would not be long, morning at best, until the FBI figured out to come looking for Patrick Jane here at Teresa Lisbon's apartment.

"What do you have in the bag?"

"He begged me for mercy."

Gently, she grasped the handles of the bag and pressured his hand away with her fingers. It was heavier than she thought it would be. When she opened it she saw a suit and a shirt, nothing else. Moving them aside, she uncovered her gun and pulled it out. It seemed grime and gore-free and hadn't been fired, so she wiped it clean of his prints and put hers all over it. Then she set it next to her badge on the small table by the door like always when coming in from work.

"What's this for?" She rattled the paper bag.

"He fought me, but I pounded his face to a pulp."

"You've hurt your hands."

His pupils were dilated and he didn't seem to be able to stop talking, reliving the grim killing he had just committed, narrating the movie in his head.

There was blood on his shirt. Stomach, high on the shoulder in back and near his waist.

"You have some injuries to your torso. Take off your shirt."

He looked as if he might wander into the living room but she stopped him before he set a foot on the carpet. "No! Stay on the tile here at the entryway. It'll be easier to clean up."

"God, the stench. It was all blood and shit."

Lisbon sighed. The man was in shock. She started unbuttoning his shirt and cuffs, grabbing each gesticulating arm as she needed it to undo him. Peeling the shirt away and folding it the same as his other clothing, she saw no deep injuries. Looked like a shallow knife cut over the top of his belly under the sternum and low, near the waist of his pants. A bad bang at the shoulder that had burst the skin and created a large dark bruise over the bone. Feeling along its length she could detect no knots or irregularities that would indicate anything was broken, at least not badly. Jane never flinched, even when she felt her way over the most damaged areas.

"Can you move your arm okay?" Trying to get through to him was like shouting to a deaf man, yelling over the high-pressure wind that the flight of his jumbled thoughts had stirred in the quiet room.

"He said your name."

"My name?"

"He talked like he knew you. And laughed that he'd ruined you and kept us apart."

"I'm not ruined."

The fucking bastard had her lying now. In so many ways it was true. It had kept them physically apart, but had melded them together as people, nearly as mates, in the pressure cooker that the unnatural celibacy had demanded. Recipe of a serial killer. "Fucking malignant narcissist." And yeah. Her reputation would be ruined, at least in California.

"You're going to have to take all your clothing off here. I'm sorry. But you can't track all this trace into the rest of the house. Take off your shoes."

"That's when I made the first cut. Into his belly. Slow and deep. He wasn't laughing then."

Lisbon tried not to look at the shaded light in his eyes or the satisfied smile that curled his lips. Instead she knelt down and made him pick up his leg so that she could remove his shoes and socks herself. It gave her something to concentrate on so that she could try to tune out his rambling narration. His feet didn't smell any better than the rest of him.

"The stench of his gut. I got tired of it."

Lisbon stood in front of him again. "Take your trousers off."

That seemed to get his attention. He looked at her strangely. Then his eyes darted away to chase another thought in flight. "He started coughing. It was forcing everything out of his gut. That's when I cut the veins in his neck."

He wore no belt and his pants opened easily. He seemed to have lost a little weight and they slid off his slender form like water and pooled over his bare feet.

"Step out." Lisbon led him with a firm hand on his forearm and she folded the pants in on themselves, laying them next to the other bundles on the floor. His thin cotton briefs were damp and stretched out, hanging at the leg holes, stuck into his crack at the back.

"Can you at least take off your own underwear?" she said as she moved from behind him, He seemed to take no notice of her.

When she pulled out his waistband at the front to take down his underwear for him, they seemed to be stuck to his genitals. A familiar starchy scent wafted to her nostrils along with the rest of his musk and sweat as she pulled the cloth away, a rather copious pool of semen, squelching loudly in the silence.

"I came." It was the first thing relevant to what they were doing that he'd said since he walked through the door.

"I don't know how it happened. But when he started making that . . . dying sound . . . I felt so . . . I came. It was pouring out of me, all warm in my pants. And my breath . . . "

Lisbon blushed, but managed to makes sense as she tried to comfort him. "It's just your body, Jane, the excitement, the exertion. Your body was tuned up so high . . . everything went off at once, that's all. It's okay. It doesn't mean anything. It happens." She didn't say, "to killers."

"He knew. I think he could . . . feel me, hear me gasping. I was sitting on him, facing him. He talked to me like a lover, like he'd got me off."

"It wasn't him. He was just messing with your mind."

"I know. You're my lover."

Lisbon had managed to get his underwear off and tucked into a bundle while they'd been talking. The topic of conversation had been a bit disgusting but at least it was mutual. His last words stopped her short, and she slowly looked up at him from her stooped position. The beautiful eyes in the mess of his face looked warmly at her, set firmly in reality like jewels in a necklace. She smiled at him. "No one else's. That's for sure."

"When he died, I was free. Free to come to you. As a man. That's what got me off. I could come to you as a man would to the woman he loves. Not as an amusement or an annoyance. But as myself. You know me, Teresa, everything about me. Even the worst parts."

"I don't know everything, Jane. Don't exaggerate."

Jane snuffled a quiet laugh as he watched her finish tending to his clothes, doing her best to ignore his naked, filthy state. "Well, you certainly know my worst parts, that's for sure."

"If you say so." The parts she was seeing tonight didn't look bad at all. After a good wash . . . What was she thinking? She diverted her attention to finding a pair of oversized tube socks in the laundry basket near the armchair. "Here. Put these on your feet."

"Socks? I'm like this and you want me in socks?"

"Keep you from tracking trace to the shower."

"Oh."

She laughed at him. "Idiot!" He balanced with a hand on her back as she put the socks on his feet.

"Where'd you leave the body, Jane?" She wanted to gauge how much time they had before it might be found.

"Where I killed him."

"Yes, but where was that?" God, don't let him zone out again.

"Way at the back of the cemetery. I chased him there."

"Okay. He might not be found for a while then." Maybe days. "Come on. Let's get you in the shower."

Lisbon tried to leave him at the bathroom door. "Are you going to be all right in there?"

His eyes widened in surprise. "Yes. Of course. But we have so little time, Lisbon . . . I . . . I just don't want to be away from you for a minute. Please, if you're too embarrassed to come into the shower with me, at least sit in here and talk to me."

"Embarrassed? I'm not embarrassed. I just need you to tell me what you want. I can't assume. I don't want to intrude, or push you into something you might not want."

"Not want? You can't be serious! I just killed for you. For us."

"Okay. Not 'want." I mean, something you're not ready for."

"Teresa." He put his face close to hers and whispered intimately. "I'm ready. I'm more than ready. I'm dying for you."

Lisbon had never felt the induction of passion that his words and voice pressed into her, fucking her without touch. She felt suddenly turned to warm taffy, merging pools of intense erotic sensation that made her want to use his body to satisfy herself immediately. They looked at each other, both aflame with desire and breathing heavily as the steam rose from behind Jane.

"Wash." Lisbon broke their spell. Practically, washing had to come first.

Jane smiled at her, waiting.

"Yes, Jane, you certainly could use some help in there. There's a lot to wash, especially your hair. It will make things quicker." She blushed again.

"So utilitarian. I love that. I think you want to take me to your bed as quickly as possible. I'm ready." Both his echoing words and his gaze were direct and welcoming.

Lisbon undressed quickly, but left her underwear on and joined him in the shower.

The water ran red from Jane, swirling into the drain along with soap foam and pink-tinged shampoo bubbles. But soon everything ran clear. Lisbon washed his hair and checked his injuries again, going carefully through his scalp, but found no further damage and nothing at all serious.

There would be trace in the shower drain and probably some elsewhere. The FBI would find out eventually that he had been there, but she would make them work for it, give him as much time to get as far away as he could. She didn't want to know where. She didn't want to be used as leverage for their pursuit. They would try to make an example of him, take him down as part of the corruption they, in the white hats, were cleaning up in California. Fuck them.

Jane watched as Lisbon processed these thoughts, noting the concern and pain on her face. He shouldn't have come to her. But he couldn't help it. He would always come to her. Even as a foul murdering bastard who ejaculated at his kill.

Shaking out of her own thoughts, Lisbon saw immediately that Jane's had taken a dark turn.

Placing both hands on his chest, she pinned him against the shower wall. "Look. I'm sorry you had to go through that. Murdering him with a knife. The gore. The smells. The horror of being that guy. But you need to know something, Patrick."

His chin was nearly on his chest.

"No! Look at me!"

When he lifted his head to look into her eyes, she saw sadness, revulsion, fear and shame. He was afraid she couldn't love him after he'd done something like this.

"I'm glad you did it. Glad! He didn't deserve to live. He would never have stopped until he'd killed both of us. Or at least killed me and made you wish for death. You saved us, Jane. There was no other way. It was brave. You were brave. You saved both our lives. You saved me, Patrick. I'm grateful. I owe you my life. And I love you. Not just for that. I love you. Completely. I don't care what you had to do. You did it for your beautiful slain family. And you did it for us. For me. I love you. How could I not?"

Jane felt himself shatter under her beautiful words, in the protection of her big, gorgeous heart. He had a home in it. But he had to leave. Flee, even before the sun came up. And his heart was breaking. Even having put an end to the fiend who had tormented him, controlled his life, he could not have what he wanted most. No, the only thing he wanted. His shoulders began to shake as the sobs forced their way out of him and he leaned on his tiny love for support, for succor, for life. They would still be controlled by Red John from the grave.

Teresa held his head to her shoulder, stroking his back, massaging the tense muscles of his neck, running her fingers through his wet hair and murmured words of love and tenderness as he releasd the immense pain that crawled out of him like snakes. Nothing could take away the reality of their pending separation. They would always love one another. Nothing could take that. And they had this one night. A night they couldn't waste. She felt unsure what to do and so, true to her patient nature, she waited quietly to see what Patrick would do. She couldn't push him, no matter how much she wanted him and wanted this night. No matter how ready he said he was, she would not make the first move.

He started to shiver uncontrollably in the shower steam. "Come on, Jane. Let's get you into a nice warm bed. You've been on your feet since you got here."

She led him out, wrapped him in a big towel and rubbed it vigorously on his back, then dried his hair. He was still shivering. "Come with me." He didn't move. "Now. You need to get off your feet and lie down."

She pulled his arm and he followed her to the bed. She had to practically topple him to get him into it while she pulled the covers over him. He looked a little pale. The lumps and bruises on him couldn't explain this. "Jane, did you take any blows to your body or head? Fall?"

"No, I'm all right. Everything's just catching up to me. I feel cold all over. Come in here with me. You can warm me up."

Lisbon removed her wet underwear and started digging in a drawer for a sleep shirt.

"No. Skin to skin. It's best for warming someone. I want to feel you next to me, Teresa."

"Jane? Are you playing me? Trying to have your way with me?" She turned to see him smiling at her backside. His color seemed to be returning.

"Is it working?"

"I'd say so, yes." Now his eyes were jumping from her face to her breasts and to the dark delta between her legs. They finally stopped, fixating on her lips.

"Come to bed, Teresa. Make love with me."

Lisbon lifted the covers and practically threw herself into his arms. She hugged him tightly, her head tucked at his neck and shoulder. "I love you so much."

"Can I ask you a big favor, Lisbon?"

She pulled away and looked at him suspiciously, a little smile playing at her lips. What was he up to? "I guess. You've already got my sympathy flowing, so now's a good time."

"My feet are still so cold, icy."

"And?"

"It's distracting. I need them to warm up fast. Can I put them on you?"

She giggled. "How romantic! Of course. Here. Let me get in a better position to make it easy for you." She scooted low on the mattress at an angle that made it easy for him to put his feet against her belly.

"Is this in the Kama Sutra?"

"Ha, ha! I was just going to ask you if this is your idea of foreplay."

She set his feet in place. "Ah! Jesus, Jane! When you said icy, I didn't know you meant dry ice!" She rubbed his feet, hoping it would help circulate her belly heat into them, then got distracted feeling the length of his calf muscles, sleek and so well formed. His knees were the closest things and she studied them sensuously with her lips. She could tell Jane was enjoying this attention because he sighed as he rhythmically kneaded her belly with his toes.

Soon his feet seemed warm and toasty, so she moved up the bed to her pillow to study his face with her eyes. The swelling was gone most places. The scabby scratches and scrapes gave him an unfamiliar, slightly roguish appearance, especially when he smiled at her.

"I've never had my knees kissed before."

"We're two virgins, then. Yours are the only knees I've ever kissed."

When she caressed behind his ear and along his neck, Jane captured her hand and brought it to his lips, pressing it tenderly there before kissing her fingertips.

"Thank you for taking care of me. And for this one night."

"It's my one night, too, you know."

Jane's eyes glistened as he stroked her hair. "It's so beautiful. I've always wanted to touch it like this." Bunching it in his hand, he brought it to his nose and inhaled, his face flushed when he pulled away. "Ah! Teresa!" He held the back of her head in his palm, fingers splayed along her scalp, then kissed her, savoring her lips and the rising pace of her breath as she responded to him. She met him hungrily, slipping her tongue into his mouth and using it to pull his lips in, suckling them for love she knew was there.

He reached behind to brush her hip and bottom with his hand, letting the tips of his long fingers trace the boundary between her cheeks as he slid his hand to the back of her thigh and hooked behind her knee, drawing her leg up to open her sex to him.

Pushing his shoulder, Lisbon rolled him to his back. "You take it easy. You've been out defending the castle and now you can lie back and reap your reward." She winked at him and he relaxed as she kissed him and straddled him at the same time. Capturing him in the well of her sex, she sank onto him completely, reveling in the loud gasping call when he sounded the surprise of his pleasure at the same time that she felt him fill her depths.

Lisbon savored their joining, snugging him in deep, tight. She stilled her hips, sealed to him while passion raced through the rest of her body. When she lifted from his chest, moaning and heated, Jane gently stroked her breasts from base to tip. His whispering touch barely feathered the nipples, magnifying the intensity of the thrill until her spine curled and she pulsed helplessly around him, moving her hips to ride him through her orgasm.

When she fell quiet against his chest once more, he propped up his legs to cradle her hips and push her face closer to his. Still joined, she breathed in his ear, "I've wanted to do this for so long. I love you, Patrick."

Her confession filled his body with fire and he rolled them over, pinning her to the mattress, burying himself, rooting deep to force her legs to open wider. "I want to come with you under me. I want to wipe away the stain of . . . of today, being with you as I belong. As I've dreamed for years, Teresa. I'm so in love with you. All I want is you. Nothing else." He moved in her, listening to the sounds of her excitement rebuilding, feeling her wet heat squeeze and tighten as her hips rolled under him.

"Look at me. I want to see you come."

He opened his eyes to see hers crinkle in a soft smile as her body began to arch with each of his thrusts. He was impossibly hard and straight, boring into her like a glass rod, taking the heat of her into his own body and giving it back again. Pushing into her one last time, he began to throb, rhythmically shoving himself against her vulva as he shot into her, relief and joy claiming him together.

Gripping his arms, Lisbon lifted her body and angled her hips to scrape her swollen clit against the base of him and into the tickling hair. Crying out as her contractions clutched him, she fell to the pillow and felt her body milk him, drawing him in as the waves of her release defined him to her own flesh.

When they had recovered breath, they shared a last kiss and sank into sleep as he fell away from her, breaking their intimate connection with a moan of regret.

Jane awoke to the smell of coffee and bacon, the clink of crockery in the kitchen. He was alone and it was still dark. He tried not to think of it as a portent to the rest of his life. But his heart was heavy as he arose from Teresa's bed. In the bathroom, he washed and wrung out his briefs and, putting on the suit and shirt from his grocery bag, slipping his bare feet into his shoes, he joined Lisbon in the kitchen.

Holding out his wet things, he said, "These are the only ones I've got."

She put them in doubled freezer bags and dropped them in a paper sack. "People will think it's your lunch. Maybe you'll have a chance to let them dry before too long and you can put them on." She gave him a wavering smile. "It's a good thing you're leaving. Knowing you're commando, I'd be feeling you up all day."

"I'd love that. I'll think of your hand on me ten times a day."

They picked at breakfast in silence until, tossing back the last of his tea, Jane rose to leave. Lisbon followed him to the door. The light of dawn was just filling the windows, pink and gentle. For them, it was the color of exile.

Leaning down, he placed his forehead against hers. "All I want is to take you again in your bed. Feel you make love to me. Have your incredible love. Live in the shelter of your big, gorgeous heart. And I can have nothing. Red John is dead and he's still taking everything from me."

Lisbon was sobbing by the end of his loving words, but finally managed, "From both of us. But maybe not forever, Patrick. Maybe not forever."

Their parting kiss was not passionate. It was tender, seeking, filled with the bittersweet of their parting.

"I'll always let Cho know where I am. Contact him if you need me for anything. Patrick."

He turned to her and she held his face in her hands. "You are the love of my life. You have to come back to me."

Tears streamed down his face. "I'll try. But you can't stop your life because we're apart, Teresa. I want you to be happy."

"I wish I could be so generous. I only want you to come back to me. When this all settles out, maybe you can."

"Maybe. Good-bye, Teresa. Be well. I'll always love you." He opened the door and walked away, head bowed.

Teresa knew he was weeping, broken and crushed, like her. She watched him cross the parking lot, turn left at the sidewalk and disappear from view. Her emptiness told her that he had taken her heart with him.


End file.
